


Repeat

by sciencefictioness



Series: Repeat [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Hopeful Ending, M/M, Phone Sex, Self-Loathing, Sibling Incest, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 18:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17188373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: The hard part is over.That’s what he tells himself, anyway, hold music trilling low in his ears, a prerecorded voice chiming in from time to time to tell him his call was important, they can’t wait to talk to him, please stay on the line and we’ll take good care of you soon.  The song playing in the background is something slow and smooth.  Sensual, Hanzo supposes, trying to set the right kind of mood for their callers.  It isn’t working.Hanzo has never been less turned on in his life.  It’s not their fault.He found the number on a worn out card in Genji’s room, laying forgotten under everything his brother had left behind.  Shirts that smelled like cigarette smoke, empty beer cans, stray baggies with coke residue clinging inside them.  A nightstand drawer full of half-empty lubricant bottles, a handful of sex toys, condoms in shining foil wrappers.Blankets that still smelled like him, and Hanzo had shoved his face into them, and let himself breathe deep.Genji, Genji.Genji is gone.





	Repeat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gnomeicecream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnomeicecream/gifts).



> For gnome. I hope you enjoy, even if it's maybe not quite what you had in mind.

The hard part is over.

 

That’s what he tells himself, anyway, hold music trilling low in his ears, a prerecorded voice chiming in from time to time to tell him his call was important, they can’t  _ wait  _ to talk to him,  _ please stay on the line and we’ll take  _ good  _ care of you soon. _  The song playing in the background is something slow and smooth.  Sensual, Hanzo supposes, trying to set the right kind of mood for their callers.  It isn’t working.

 

Hanzo has never been less turned on in his life.  It’s not their fault. 

 

He found the number on a worn out card in Genji’s room, laying forgotten under everything his brother had left behind.  Shirts that smelled like cigarette smoke, empty beer cans, stray baggies with coke residue clinging inside them. A nightstand drawer full of half-empty lubricant bottles, a handful of sex toys, condoms in shining foil wrappers.  

 

Blankets that still smelled like him, and Hanzo had shoved his face into them, and let himself breathe deep.

 

_ Genji, Genji. _

 

Genji is gone.

 

He comes into his brother’s room every day.  Presses his face to Genji’s pillow. Closes his eyes, and pulls Genji into his lungs, shame twisting through his blood.  Hot and achy and always there, coloring all his favorite memories in heated shades of want.

 

_ Genji in the dojo, gi dropping down off his shoulders, bottom lip bitten between bright white teeth.  Sweating, skin shining with it, hair messy and wet and falling in his eyes. His muscles flex as he unties the belt, fingers long and deft and certain.  He catches Hanzo watching; it isn’t hard. _

 

_ Hanzo’s always watching.  He flushes. Genji winks, and—  _

 

Hanzo lets out a shuddering breath.  He’s in Genji’s bed even now, phone held to his ear, his brother’s chaos spread out all around him.  The servants had started to clean it, and Hanzo had chased them all out and forbidden them from entering again.  The room is a disaster, to be sure, but Hanzo has protected it. Kept it safe; a shrine of sorts, but not to Genji.

 

To all the things Hanzo needs and cannot have.

 

Genji is a fire, and Hanzo has always wanted to burn.

 

Hanzo doesn’t blame him for leaving.  He’d go, too, if he could work up the nerve.  Abandon Hanamura and never come back; Sojiro’s ghost still haunts this place.

 

Still haunts Hanzo in all the worst ways, until it’s hard to know what parts of himself are real and which parts are scars.  Thick skin built up over open wounds, trying to keep himself safe, except now he’s unrecognizable. 

 

Now he’s monstrous.

 

Now he’s curled in on himself atop of Genji’s sheets, business card in his hand, sleek black faded to soft gray.  Hanzo toys idly with the corners, feels them fold under his thumb. The writing is almost illegible now, but Hanzo can make it out if he tries;  _ Intimate Moments. _

 

When he’d found the card Hanzo had stood frozen for long moments, crouched over Genji’s bedside table, staring.

 

Imagining.

 

_ Genji with his phone to his ear— belt loose, fly pulled open, hand in his clothes.  Bare feet sliding across his bed as he arched and panted, ‘Oh fuck, fuck.’ _

 

_ Genji finishing in bursts, shivering as he works himself through it.  Come dripping down his knuckles, thick and pearlescent, and- _

 

He’d thrown the card away.  Crumbled it up, and tossed it into the trash.

 

Then he’d come back and dug it out, tucking it into his wallet with shaking hands.  Tried to forget about it, except Hanzo’s never been good at that. Doing what’s best for him.

 

Leaving behind things he knows will hurt.

 

So he locks Genji’s door, falls into Genji’s bed, and pulls out his phone, but even giving in isn’t easy.

 

Hanzo hangs up on them a half-dozen times before finally working up the courage to speak.

 

He has a stilted, monosyllabic conversation with the person who initially answers his call.  Someone vaguely feminine who greets him, takes his credit card information, and asks his preferences,  _ what sort of companion are you interested in speaking with tonight? _

 

Hanzo doesn’t know.  

 

Says as much before he can stop himself, and the woman continues, nonplussed.

 

_ Do you have a gender preference?  We have male, female, and agender companions of a variety of ages and ethnicities. _

 

_ A- a man,  _ he stammers out, looking around the room like there might be someone there to hear.  As though the elders are lurking nearby, listening, ready berate Hanzo about honor and tradition and the Shimada name.   _ I’d like to speak to a man. _

 

It still feels wrong to say it out loud when Hanzo isn’t sure it’s true.

 

Does he want a man?

 

Or is it just  _ Genji? _

 

The voice in his ear carries on, asking if he has any specific  _ companion _ preferences, would he like to speak with someone older?  Someone younger? 

 

_ Genji in his room, cheeks pink, smelling of sake and expensive cologne.  Hands on Hanzo’s face, on Hanzo’s lips, ‘Oh, anija. Please, just…  _ please. _ ’  Bright eyes and a wet mouth, and he’s beautiful, and vibrant, and he tastes like- _

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Hanzo says, abrupt and serious, “anyone is fine.”

 

The woman hums.  Hanzo can hear keys clacking in the background, the muted conversation of people speaking just out of earshot.

 

“I think we have someone available who can help you… relax a bit.  I’ll transfer you now, if you like?”

 

Hanzo doesn’t bristle at the implication that he needs to relax.  

 

“That’s fine.”

 

“There will be a brief hold,” she says. 

 

Then the music starts and Hanzo sighs, and there is nothing but Genji’s scent in his nose, and Genji’s blankets on his skin.

 

Hanzo, and his guilt, and the only pieces of his brother he has left outside his memories.

 

He could leave Hanamura, but he doesn’t think it would help.

 

Hanzo can’t get away from himself.

 

“Hello there.”

 

Hanzo startles at the greeting, phone slipping briefly from his hand to land in the sheets.  He picks it up with clumsy fingers and presses it back to his ear.

 

“Ah, hello.  Sorry.”

 

The man on the other end laughs— something easy but a little artificial, like his voice is being run through some kind of tech before it reaches Hanzo.  Not robotic, exactly, but not entirely organic either. He still manages to be sultry. Hanzo likes the way he sounds when he laughs.

 

Which is unfortunate, since he’ll probably never hear it again.

 

Making people laugh isn’t Hanzo’s strong suit.

 

“No need to apologize.  What’s your name, handsome?”  

 

Hanzo shifts in place, frowning.

 

“Hanzo.”

 

It comes out haltingly, as though Hanzo is uncertain whether or not he should be telling them.  But Hanzo doesn’t think he’d be able to answer to anything else, doesn’t think he’d enjoy being called by a different name.  It’s hard enough to do this.

 

Hanzo isn’t good at that kind of pretending.

 

There is a sharp intake of breath on the line; a loud noise, like glass shattering, followed by muffled swearing.  Hanzo furrows his brows, glancing at his phone like it might tell him what’s happening.

 

“Are… you all right?”  

 

There’s that laugh again, but this time it’s a little frantic, a little breathless. Footsteps, like whoever he’s talking to is walking over old wooden floors.

 

“I’m… I’m fine, I’m okay.  So… Hanzo. I can tell you my nickname, unless there’s something you’d like to call me?  Am I being myself tonight, or someone else?”

 

“Yourself,” Hanzo says.  Lies. “Whoever you are is… just you, is fine.”

 

“Usually I go by Sparrow,” he says.  Lilting, like he’s teasing, and Hanzo swallows around the lump in his throat.

 

_ Sparrow.   _ Of all the numbers he could have gotten, of all the people he could be speaking to, of course Hanzo ends up on the line with this one.

 

“That’s.”  Not fine, Hanzo thinks, but doesn’t say.  “Sparrow, then.”

 

It rolls off his tongue much more fondly than it should, but Hanzo can’t help that.

 

He can’t say it any other way.  Sparrow hums, like Hanzo has done something to please him.

 

“So, Hanzo.  How would you like me tonight?”

 

He’s still caught up on the name, tangled up in memories, the past cloying thick like smoke in his lungs.  

 

“I… don’t know.  I’ve never done this before.”

 

“I don’t get a lot of first time callers, but I’m sure I can get you right where I want you.  You wanna tell me about yourself? Give me an idea of what kind of man I’ve got my hands on?”

 

“Tell you… what, exactly?”

 

He doesn’t want to learn anything about Hanzo, really.  Hanzo knows that. He’s just trying to get a feel for his customer, to show him a good time, figure out what he wants.  It’s going to be difficult.

 

Hanzo doesn’t  _ know  _ what he wants.  Except that’s another lie; he does know what he wants. 

 

Knows he shouldn’t want it.

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sparrow says, melodic and singsong, “what you look like, maybe?  Are you tall, dark and handsome?”

 

Hanzo scoffs.

 

“Hardly.  I’m… short.  Long black hair, dark eyes.”  He finds it incredibly embarrassing to describe himself, even if he’s not saying the kinds of things this man probably hears.  Hanzo isn’t about to monologue to some stranger about his abs or his biceps or the size of his dick. “I have some tattoos, but other than that I’m… ordinary.”  

 

It feels antithetical to Hanzo to describe himself that way, but it’s the truth.  Strip away his name and his standing and the empire of criminals at his beck and call, and Hanzo is nothing special.  Worse than ordinary.

 

Hanzo is broken in so many ways he doesn’t know how to put himself together anymore.

 

“Oh, I don’t believe that.  Ordinary people always think they’re some kind of gift to humanity.  It’s the interesting ones who think they’re boring. Tell me about your tattoos, Hanzo.”

 

Hanzo takes a breath and lets it out slow, fingers of his right hand tracing over the lines of his dragons on autopilot.

 

“There are a few.  I have an ouroboros on my right shoulder, and on my left there are two blue dragons, going from my… my chest, down into a sleeve.”

 

“Just the two, then?”  Sparrow asks, with a kind of certainty, like he knows the answer is yes.

 

Hanzo hesitates.  This stranger is going to think he’s a liar, but what does he have to lose?

 

“No.  I have one on the inside of my right wrist.  It’s new.”

 

“Oh?”  There’s genuine interest there, and Hanzo can’t help but smile a little.  “What is it?”

 

“You’re not going to believe me.”

 

Sparrow laughs, loud and bright.

 

“Try me.”

 

“It’s a little green bird.  A… a sparrow.”

 

Hanzo laughs over the last word, and it’s tastes foreign and strange in his mouth.  The sound Sparrow makes is gratifying somehow. It’s the same sensation Hanzo always felt when he got the better of Genji in training, or managed to fluster him.  As though he’s choking on air, and then there’s a cough. The sound of him swallowing.

 

“Bullshit!”  It’s not hostile, not really.  The syllables are sharply defined, like he’s speaking two different words.

 

“Why would I lie to you?  I’m paying you to… well. I’m paying you for  _ something.” _

 

Why would  _ anyone  _ lie about having a tiny green bird inked into them?  Without context it’s… odd at best, especially for someone like Hanzo.  Sparrow groans, and it’s not a sexual sound, but Hanzo’s cock doesn’t seem to be too particular.  

 

_ Genji between his thighs, palms forcing them wide, face tucked into his throat as he- _

 

“Oh my god, you really have a sparrow tattoo.  That’s… amazing. I love it.” He sighs, laugher in it, before continuing.  “Okay, Hanzo. How long has it been since you’ve been with a man? A lot of gentlemen get the pleasure of your company, or am I a special case?”

 

Hanzo thinks about lying, but it sits wrong on his tongue.  Like Sparrow will know somehow, will see through his nonsense even without looking at him.

 

“There’s… only ever been one.  It’s been a while, but even then it was…”

 

Wrong.  Shameful.

 

“It was what?”  Sparrow’s voice is too soft, too intimate in the hush of Genji’s room.

 

_ Genji’s fingers laced through his, pinning his hands down over his head, holding him in place.  Genji’s mouth on his, mumbling words into it, ‘Love you, anija. Love you.’ _

 

“It was a mistake.”

 

There’s a heavy beat of silence, and Sparrow sounds almost wounded.

 

“Was it?”

 

_ “Yes.”   _ It’s hissed and defensive, like he’s trying to make Sparrow believe it.  Trying to make himself believe it.

 

“Why was it a mistake?  Did someone get hurt?”

 

_ Yes. _

 

It still hurts, but only because Genji is gone.

 

“I… don’t know.”

 

“Did he want you?  Was he willing?”

 

_ Please, anija, please. _

 

“Yes.  He thought he wanted me, at least.  I thought he wanted me.”

 

“Was he with someone else?  Were  _ you  _ with someone else?  One of you being unfaithful to someone?”

 

“No.”  Sullen and pouting, like a child being coaxed into something.

 

“Did it feel good, Hanzo?”

 

The memories that assail Hanzo are white-hot and endless.  Genji’s skin, and Genji’s tongue, and Genji’s teeth. He sighs, and it comes out as a whine as he takes himself in hand, cock already hard and slick under his palm.  Oversensitive from all the weeks he’s denied himself.

 

Trying and failing to be better.

 

“Yes.”

 

“It doesn’t sound like a mistake to me.  Did it happen a lot, you and him? Was it something casual, or did he learn every last inch of you?”

 

Sparrow drops his voice over the last half-dozen words.  It’s dripping with innuendo, and Hanzo nods, hair falling in his eyes, before catching himself.

 

“Not… not casual, we… he was everything.”

 

Sparrow hums, breathing a little fast.  Not as fast as Hanzo’s. 

 

“Did he eat you alive?  Get you on a bed and— are you on a bed now, Hanzo?”

 

“Y...yes, I… his bed, I’m…” Hanzo trails off.  It’s difficult to think right now, phone cradled awkwardly between his ear and his shoulder, hands busy working himself.  He’s got one on his cock, stroking, the other slipping back behind his balls. Pressing, teasing.

 

_ “Oh, Hanzo.”   _ It’s so adoring Hanzo’s breath catches.  “That’s what I’d do to you. Get you on a bed, and push your thighs apart.  They’re thick, aren’t they? Muscular? I bet they are. Tell me they are.”

 

“They… yes, yeah.”

 

Sparrow moans.

 

“Sink my fingers into them, push until they’re so wide it hurts you a little.  You like that, yeah? Like it when it hurts a little?”

 

Hanzo does it now, opens his legs until it’s painful, until they’ll go no further.  He’s got two fingers teasing at himself, the thumb of his other hand rubbing rough circles over his crown as he nods again.

 

“Yes, I… please.”

 

Sparrow makes a noise, close enough to a growl that Hanzo whimpers.

 

“Push wide, until there’s nothing left to hide, and I can see every bit of you.  You’re hard for me already, yeah?” Hanzo hums an affirmative, a desperate little  _ mmmhmmm,  _ and Sparrow continues.  “You’re hard, and so sensitive, shaking every time I touch you.  Even just breathing on you gets you shivering. I put my mouth so close, breathe out over your cock, watch it drip onto your stomach.  You want me so badly, but you never ask for it. I have to come to you, press you down into the bed, watch your breathing get all ragged.  I’d make you ask. Make you beg me. Beg me, Hanzo. Tell me what you want.”

 

Hanzo bucks into his fist, spine arching as he presses into himself with both fingers at once, eyes rolling at the stretch.

 

“Want… want it, please.  Want you.”

 

_ Genji. _

 

“I’d take you all the way down, all at once.  Suck you in, bury my nose in the curls at the base.  Look up at you while my mouth is stuffed with your cock, watch you shake to pieces.  Should I finger you, too? I bet you’d like it.”

 

Hanzo likes anything Genji does to him.

 

“Yeah.  I do, I… I like it.”  

 

Another groan, low and fucked-out.  Like Sparrow is getting off on this as much as Hanzo.

 

“I’d reach up and stick my fingers in your mouth, make you lick around them, get them nice and wet.  You’d be so eager. Shameless, until there’s drool leaking down my knuckles, all messy on your face. You don’t even care, you just want me inside you.  When I pull back you make a pitiful sound, like you’re sad you don’t have anything of mine to suck on anymore, but then I’m pushing into you and you’re begging instead.  Let me hear you, a- Hanzo, ask me nicely.”

 

Hanzo’s fingers are sliding easy now, knee hitched up over his elbow, cock twitching in his hand.  The phone has fallen down on the bed, and he’s pressing his ear against it so he can hear. He doesn’t have to fantasize, doesn’t have to create some imaginary scenario in his mind.

 

Hanzo has lived this very thing, time and time again.  

 

_ Genji’s fingers on his tongue.  Genji’s lips stretched around his cock.  Genji fucking into him, opening him up. Slow, and taunting, and, ‘Say please, anija, say it.’ _

 

“Please, Genji, please, please.”

 

A whine.  Brief, and muffled.  

 

“Anything for you, Hanzo.  I’d put you on your back and slip my cock into you.  A little too fast, and it-  _ fuck,”  _ Sparrow swears, voice strained, the sound of skin on skin unmistakable in the background, “it’s got you hissing.  Baring your teeth, head thrown back, but you… you love it, you fucking  _ love it.” _

 

Hanzo does.  Nods, too lost in the moment to catch himself, to realize he can’t be seen.  It doesn’t seem to matter. Sparrow carries on unfazed.

 

“Fuck you hard.  Get you sliding up the mattress, until you have to put your palms on the headboard to keep from slamming into it.  You’re still asking for more, even bent in half and red-faced with tears in your eyes, you’re still begging me. I can’t give you more, can’t give it to you harder.  I’ll fucking  _ break  _ you if I do, but that’s what you want, right?  For me to tear you apart? Leave you all shattered and destroyed?”

 

The sound he makes is animal, a mewling, defeated thing.  Sparrow’s whining in between his words, gasping them out breathlessly, like it’s all he can do.

 

“That’s what you deserve, right?  Anija?”

 

Of course it’s Genji.

 

It’s always Genji.

 

Hanzo comes over his fingers, sobbing out Genji’s name and shuddering through it.  He keeps stroking, pulling his other hand free of himself, cock gone soft and sensitive.  He’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, face so hot he can feel it radiating off him.

 

“You deserve more than that, Hanzo,” Sparrow says.

 

Genji says.  Hanzo can tell he’s come, just by the sound of his voice, even run through whatever tech they’ve used to try and keep things anonymous.

 

“I don’t.  And even if I did, you… you left.”

 

It hurts to say it out loud.  The way it settles in his chest, and wraps around his bones.

 

The way agony has always felt like home.

 

“Maybe I thought you would follow me.  Maybe I’m still waiting.”

 

Hanzo nuzzles into Genji’s pillow, hands slick with come and tucked between his thighs.  A mess. Just like Hanzo.

 

“You deserve better.”

 

Genji deserved the world.

 

“I think I deserve to get what I want.  We both do, Hanzo. After everything we’ve been through?  It’s not too much to ask.”

 

Hanzo closes his eyes.

 

“I’ll find you.”

 

It won’t be hard.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things. <3


End file.
